


Lifeline

by mdr_24601



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Annie Cresta-centric, Arena (Hunger Games), F/M, Pre-Canon, The Capitol (Hunger Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26161846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdr_24601/pseuds/mdr_24601
Summary: Lifeline: a thing on which someone or something depends or which provides a means of escape from a difficult situation.The notes were a small detail, hardly the most exciting thing to happen in the arena.It was funny how the smallest things could make the biggest difference.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this post](https://the-sun-and-the-sea.tumblr.com/post/625749181599023104/i-love-this-so-much-odesta-is-my-favorite) on Tumblr and had to write about it. Hope you enjoy. <3

It started small.

Annie had found refuge in a cave for the time being. It was a small space, barely enough to fit her and her meager set of items, but it would suffice. 

There was no need for it to fit two people. Not anymore. 

She could still see her district partner’s blood under her fingernails, on her skin. It was everywhere. The stream provided little help in getting clean, no matter how hard she scrubbed. But Annie doubted she’d ever feel clean again. 

The attack from the Careers had come suddenly, and ended as quickly as it came. But Annie couldn’t shake the image of his glassy eyes as his head rolled towards her feet. Her throat was scratchy and sore from the screaming, but another scream built in her chest. 

Perhaps she should just let it out. It would draw other tributes to her location, maybe they could finish her off for good. Or the stream nearby; drowning wasn’t such a bad way to go. Compared to other arena deaths she’d seen, drowning could almost be considered pleasant. 

Annie barely had time to open her mouth before the sound of a silver parachute cut her off. She couldn’t imagine who would possibly want to sponsor her now, but that was unimportant. 

She could remember Finnick telling her, a thousand years ago:

_“You have to get people to like you, Annie. It’s a television show, and whoever wins will be the character they like best. And they’ll give you gifts to help you.”_

She had thought that her screams scared off any remaining sponsors, but apparently, she assumed wrong. 

With shaky hands, she opened the package, revealing a few rolls of District Four bread. The salty smell brought tears to her eyes and she ripped one open eagerly. Her stomach was hollow and Annie didn’t know how long it had been since her last meal. 

She stopped short at a new sound. It wasn’t the bread and the parachute had long since quieted; it sounded more like the crinkling of paper. Annie paused and took a better look at the roll. Her fingers found a small slip of paper and she quietly pulled it out. 

Although she had never mentored before, she knew that sending notes to the tributes was against the rules. This note could be telling her where the other tributes were, what they were planning; knowing that information via an outside source was considered cheating. 

The contents of the note were small, but they made all the difference. 

_Little Annie_

_Chin up._

_-Finnick Odair_

Her breath caught in her throat. It was two words, two simple words, but they meant everything. There was life outside of the arena. There was more than the tributes and the mutts and the cannons; Finnick’s note was proof of that. Should she make it out, somebody would be waiting for her. 

The thought was strangely rejuvenating. It was unsettling how quickly the arena had become her entire world. It was almost like her entire life before then never existed. There was nothing but the fear and the pain and the loud boom of the cannons. 

Only that wasn’t true. Finnick had sent her the note (she shuddered thinking of all the rules he had broken just to do so), which meant there was life outside. 

Annie tucked the note into her backpack, keeping it safe. She would go on to read it numerous times throughout the course of the day. 

* * *

The Panem anthem played in the sky and Annie forced herself to look. She repeated their names like a mantra, so she wouldn’t forget. She couldn’t forget. 

If she couldn’t remember their names (how could she not remember, they were people too, they had names and lives and families) she would say their district and gender. District Ten female, District Eleven male. Every night, like clockwork, she repeated their names. It’s monotonous, but if Annie didn’t remember, who would? Their families probably, but beyond that, were those people just another statistic? The thought made her stomach churn unpleasantly, and she fought to keep the bread from that morning down.

Annie wondered if tomorrow, her face would appear in the sky. Maybe somebody, somewhere, would add District Four female to their list. 

She laughed, as though the thought was funny. Perhaps it was. Not much made sense anymore. 

Another parachute floated down lazily and caught her eye. Annie was more eager than before; the possibility of another note made her hands move faster. It was more bread, not that she needed it. There was no way to tell which roll held the note, so Annie had to tear them all in half. Vaguely, she wondered if she looked strange to viewers, but that thought was quickly dismissed once she located the note. 

It was small again, only two words:

_Little Annie_

_Be brave._

_-Finnick Odair_

She cradled the note to her chest, the paper crinkling under her fingertips. Be brave, it read. It sounded so simple when he put it like that. His words had quickly become her only source of comfort. They hadn’t even known each other long, having only met at the reaping. Still, Annie lived for his notes which, in any other circumstance, might have been a cause for concern. 

But better to live for the possibility of some notes than not live at all. 

See, she was catching on. 

The artificial sun had gone down a while ago, and Annie was beginning to feel the effects. She tucked the note into her bag with the one from that morning, then settled down to sleep. 

That night, she dreamed of his voice.

* * *

It was disturbingly easy to lose track of time in the arena. Sure, the sun rose and set every day, but how could Annie be sure that was real? Were arena days the same as regular days? Would she ever experience a regular day again?

The only thing keeping her from losing her mind (she laughed at this) was Finnick’s notes. Twice a day they came, one at morning and one at night. She measured time not by the sun or the faces in the sky, but the notes. They were a lifeline in a sea of death. 

Gradually, as time passed, they got longer. 

_Little Annie_

_It wasn’t your fault._

_Please be strong._

_-Finnick_

The days (hours, Annie reminded herself; it had only been hours since the last note) drew on, and she could feel herself slipping away. How long had she been in the cave again? How long was she expected to remain in the arena?

Until she died or won. Those were the rules. 

Annie didn’t think she’d ever resented a rule more. 

When she wasn’t eating or sleeping, she entertained fantasies. Visions of a happier life. In some, Finnick rescued her from the arena and they lived together forever. In others, they met at the market back home, after he bought one of her bracelets that she used to sell. 

No matter what she imagined, she came back to the same sight every time. The rocks that lined the cave, still dripping from the rain. The sun peeking in through the cracks in the rock. It could have been a beautiful view, if not for the fact that it was the arena. 

It was interesting to Annie that the Capitol loved all things beautiful, and yet they devoured the Hunger Games so eagerly. To her, it seemed like such a contradiction, but perhaps it was part of the strangeness of the Capitol. 

She knew that, at some point, she would need to leave her cave. She couldn’t stay in there forever, and the Gamemakers would probably force her out if they got bored. 

It was a quick walk to the stream, but Annie could feel her hands shaking. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder every few seconds, waiting for someone to come slit her throat or sever her head until her blood turned into crimson puddles on the dirt. An image of her district partner’s head, eyes wide and glassy, surfaced and she winced. 

The water rushed over the rocks with such haste that it looked like it was in a hurry. Annie laughed. She brought the cool water to her face and cleaned her arms as best as she could, which wasn’t that great. 

After filling her canteen with water, she retreated to the safety of her cave. 

The day passed as most of her time in the arena had. The anthem played, showing the faces of those who had died (District 3 female, District 8 female; Annie committed them to memory).

She waited for the sound of the parachute and was not disappointed. Bread rolls, again, and more importantly, Finnick’s note. She found the note on the first try that time, eliciting a small smile. The movement was unfamiliar and awkward; it had been so long since her last smile that Annie was surprised that her muscles didn’t forget the movement entirely. 

Despite her excitement, she tried to be as gentle as possible with the notes, as to not rip them. 

_Little Annie_

_Please don’t let it break you._

_Ten times as long._

_-Finnick_

It felt like years ago, but Annie could remember when Finnick had said those words before. It was on the train, at night, and she couldn’t sleep. He had been awake as well, and they made quiet conversation, despite only having known each other for a few days. 

_“I know I won’t be the same if I come out,” she said, settling down on the couch in the living room. “And that scares me.”_

_Finnick gave her an understanding nod. “I know. But you have to try to stay strong. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does it fall apart.”_

_“And you would know?” she asked him._

_“I would know.”_

It was a snippet of a conversation, barely enough to keep her going, but it was there. The memory of Finnick’s voice seemed to breathe some life into her again. She smiled as she went to sleep that night. 

Finnick was right. 

Best not to give into it.

* * *

Annie wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the arena, only that it had been a long time. Her hair fell in limp strands around her face, like an oily curtain. It had been pulled into a bun on her head to start out, but the style and the pins that held it up were long gone. The clothes she had been given were torn in places, from running in the woods or when she tore pieces off to use as makeshift bandages. 

What they didn’t tell you about going into the arena is how disgusting you’d feel. Not from the killing, but from the lack of proper hygiene. Her mouth tasted putrid from not brushing her teeth, and she was sure her breath smelled just as bad. 

But the worst part, worse than her hair or her teeth or her clothes, was that it felt like she had left whatever she had from home behind. She still had her district token, a bracelet made of rope with a knot in the middle, but the sea salt on her skin had been replaced with the dirt and grime of the arena. 

Annie wondered for a moment if it was possible to ever wash the arena away from her body. If she were to make it out, would she ever stop feeling like she’d left a piece of herself in there?

She didn’t dwell on it. Annie already knew the answer. 

That morning’s note was intriguing, to say the least. 

_Little Annie_

_There’s something I need to tell you, but you have to hang on a little longer._

_Can you do that for me?_

_-Finnick_

If Finnick’s goal was to keep her alive by making her curious about the future, he had certainly succeeded. Her mind was on his note all day, and with the amount of time on her hands, she was able to come up with a copious amount of answers. 

It stormed that day; loud crashes of thunder (not cannons, she reminded herself with a shaky inhale), pouring rain beating down on the rocks. Her cave kept her mostly dry, and with the bread from the parachutes, Annie had no reason to leave the cave. 

In any other situation, she may have been worried that her diet consisted of only bread, but now was not the time to be worrying about things like that, so she promptly forgot about it. 

The thunder crashed in the distance and Annie put her hands over her ears to block out the sound. Her mind wandered instinctively to Finnick’s notes, until she couldn’t hear the thunder anymore. 

* * *

She hadn’t known it would be her last note when she got it. Of course she hadn’t; how do you predict something like that? If Annie had known what was about to happen maybe she would have done something differently. 

Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have. 

With the Panem anthem and the faces in the sky came another note from Finnick. Her head was still reeling from the last one. _There’s something I need to tell you._

Quicker than she ever had before, Annie opened the note. 

_Little Annie_

_I have the worst timing,_

_but I need to tell you._

_I think I might be in love with you._

_Please win._

_Yours if you’ll have me -Finnick_

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the words until Annie couldn’t read them anymore. Was it possible to love someone you only met a week ago? Stranger things had happened, she supposed, but the idea was a new one. Still, it didn’t feel wrong or out of place in her mind; the idea that Finnick might love her. Or that she might love him. 

Could she love him? Could she win?

Unlike she’d done with the others, Annie didn’t put the note in her backpack. She had it clutched in her hand for an indefinite amount of time, refusing to let go. It was real proof of Finnick’s feelings for her. 

Annie had never considered herself to be the romantic type, but now it was difficult to consider herself as anything but. In the time that she had spent in the cave (how long had it been? Three days? Four?), she had grown attached to Finnick. 

And, it seemed that Finnick had grown attached to her. 

This thought comforted her until the steady stream of water slipped through the cracks in the rocks. Her first instinct was to protect the notes from the water, but the stream was turning into a wave and showed no signs of stopping. 

The water was up to her waist, and Annie let it pick her up and out of the cave. It was coming from the dam, which must have broken. The water knocked down everything in its path, and she could hear screams in the distance. 

She didn’t even have time to think before she was plunged underwater. Vaguely, she thought of the notes in the cave, probably damaged by now. Still, Finnick’s voice echoed in her head. 

_Please win._

_Hang on a little longer._

_Please be strong._

With a renewed determination, Annie began to push her way towards the surface. 

* * *

The last few hours (or was it days?) passed in a blurry haze. She remembered the water, pulling her down and choking her. The cannons and the trumpets that sounded shortly after. The stab of a needle. 

And then nothing. 

Annie woke in a bed, her tongue feeling like cotton in her mouth. She tried to say something, but it only came out as a garbled groan. Doctors pushed her down as she tried to sit up, and Annie screamed. 

“You’re fine, Miss Cresta, you’re safe—”

“Hold her down, she’s screaming again—”

“Sedate her—”

“Annie!”

Finnick’s voice cut through the rest. “Finnick!” she replied, but it didn’t sound coherent. Finnick got the message, though, and pushed through the doctors to get to her hospital bed. 

“Annie,” he said again, softer this time. He wiped stray hair from her face, sticky with tears. “You did it. You’re safe.”

“What happened?” she asked thickly. 

“The flood got everyone who was left. But not you.”

Annie groaned again, suddenly fatigued. “Finnick,” she said urgently. “The notes. They’re ruined.”

Finnick shushed her gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. I can write you more. As many as you’d like.”

“Every day?” she asked, still congested from crying. 

“Every hour, if you want,” he said, smiling. 

“That’s too many.” She shook her head. “Where would we put them?”

“We’d have to make room,” Finnick said gently. “Or we could just talk. Then we wouldn’t have to write notes.”

“Talk?” Annie echoed. She was still hazy from the arena. The doctors had backed off, giving them some space, and she was grateful. “How often?”

“Every day,” he said. “As much as you want.”

She felt like a problem had been resolved. For the first time in nearly a month, Annie leaned back into her pillows, relaxed. It was only a matter of time before the nightmares caught up with her. Flashes of bloody hands, shrill screams, glassy eyes. They wouldn’t leave. 

“It’s not over,” she realized aloud. Finnick looked at her strangely. “It’ll never be over, will it?”

He sighed wearily. “No. But that doesn’t mean it won’t get better.”

“Finnick?” she asked.

“Annie?”

“I’m tired.” Her pillows seemed inviting all of a sudden, and she had to put in extra effort to keep her eyes from closing. 

“You can rest now,” he said softly, though he sounded a million miles away. “You’re safe, Annie.”

* * *

When she woke, the first thing she saw was a note at her bedside table. Her heart clenched and she reached for it without thinking. 

_Little Annie_

_The worst is over, you did it._

_I knew you could._

_Keep being strong for me. You’re almost home._

_-Finnick_

Something between a sob and a laugh escaped her lips. Throughout the rest of the medical examinations, the prep, and the interviews, her fingers remained curled tightly around the note. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was missing writing about canon so I wrote this. It was quite fun so I hope you liked it. It was kind of impulsive so it’s a little messy, but that’s okay.
> 
> Be sure to leave kudos or comment if you enjoyed, thank you for reading! :)


End file.
